A Tangled Bed Sheet
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: What could have happened after NEVER on that taxi stand in Paraguay. Is this their breaking point? One shot, Mac's POV.


**A Tangled Bed Sheet **

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but a laptop suffering from old age. Not worth suing over. So don't, please. JAG and its characters are the property of Bellisarius Productions; I'm just borrowing them for my, and hopefully other people's entertainment.

**AN: **This is – the title gives it away, I think – another take on Paraguay. Specifically, the scene at the taxi stand. It still breaks my heart, every time I see it. And they both look absolutely devastated. Which makes me wonder, what happened after? They get in a cab together, on a plane together, and NOTHING? Naw, doesn't work for me. So this is a little something that I cooked up (written for the HBX March challenge). With everything that's been going on for those two, I could imagine either one being close to a breaking point. Also, please keep in mind that this is Mac's POV, so there is bound to be some misconceptions and misunderstandings when we enter just one person's mind. Now enough said, please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**o o o o o o**

**A Tangled Bed Sheet **

It's been such a beautiful, sunny day. Now the sun has set, yet its warmth is still lingering in the air. Streets and houses are bathed in welcoming, artificial lights; a peaceful scenery, all in all. Steam is rising off the hot asphalt, giving everything an almost surreal quality, making me feel like I'm on a movie set instead of in my own, inadequate life. I hate this place. I cannot wait to get out of here, to leave these memories, this country, all the awfulness behind. Yet here I am, unwilling to get into the car.

"Scarlett, get in the cab," he tells me, but I can't just yet. I try to tell him, try to make him understand. Instead, he makes fun of everything I say to him, mocking my words and feelings in this infuriating way of his, which masks the cutting remarks in smiles that never quite reach his eyes.

When did it happen? When did he stop understanding me, listening to me? Did he _ever _understand me? I used to think so; used to believe that he was the only man, the only person in the world that could, and would, and cared. I hate this place. This place we're in. After everything that happened, I'm grateful to be alive. But it also made me take a second look. Suddenly everything becomes crystal-clear, more pronounced than it ever was, in sharp edges and raw angles. Nothing of this is working, and it's tearing me apart. I can't do this anymore.

"Do you remember that chat we're going to have about… us?" I begin. That finally gets his attention. Us. Two letters. Strung together. Holding more power over our lives than any terrorist could. "There's just one problem."

"Only one?" He still doesn't get it, and all I can do is stare at him, my face frozen in a mask. Desperately trying to hide that my heart is breaking.

"Things are never going to work out between us." There's a rush racing through me, invading my head, making me almost dizzy. I gulp it down.

"Why not?"

"Because we both wanna be on top. And that's physically and emotionally impossible."

I have to turn away from him. Can't look at him anymore. Can't believe what I've just said. Yet knowing in my heart that I needed to say it. And I wait. And wait. And nothing. Not a word from him. Why is he not saying anything? Why isn't he reacting? Doing something? Fighting? Since I've known him, he's fought for everything he's ever believed in. The sudden insight makes me feel sick. Makes my head spin and my hands shake. He doesn't believe in 'us' either. Probably never has. And to my utter dismay, I break out in tears.

The realization is so excruciating that I almost keel over in pain. I've been fooling myself for eight years. I'm clutching my stomach, as if physically willing everything to stay inside, to keep the forceful feelings from bubbling out of me in strangled sobs. He won't be fighting for me. Not emotionally. He gave up everything to save my life. But when it came to feelings, he dismissed me. Practically handed me over to Webb. Like a common whore. With every mean, spiteful comment we've thrown at each other these past days, this one hurt the most. Emphasizing my inadequateness once more, like he's done before. I hate him. If only I didn't love him so damn much. I feel raw and exposed. I need to get away. From him. Maybe I won't be able to run away all my life. But I can run now. Hide. Until the control is back. Until the Marine in me is back in charge. And the woman once more put down a few pegs, where she belongs. The woman who nobody wants… because she's a curse.

I turn, away from the cab, away from him. Stagger back towards the hotel entrance. Almost stumble over my stupid, ridiculously high heels in my hasty flight. I'll just check back in; I can leave tomorrow just as well. Suddenly I'm held back and yanked around by a powerful, bordering on painful grab on my arm. I know the feel of this hand, and the warmth of it is strangely mingling with this growing anger inside of me that's fighting with the hurt.

"Let go of me." I sob, struggling hard until I feel his grip loosen. He doesn't attempt to hold me back again. Good for him. He wouldn't want to be in the path of my wrath now. The rational part of my mind knows that none of all this is his fault. No, I pretty much managed to fool myself all on my own, hoping for something that apparently never existed in the first place. Anger and hurt, two powerful entities. Battling inside of me, each trying to get the upper hand, taking me down with them. Effectively replacing any reasoning I had left. I hate him. I love him. I don't ever want to see him again. I want him.

I march through the lobby towards the reception desk. Peripherally I'm aware that he's following me, a few steps behind. Probably thinks I've gone off the deep end now. Anger is seeping off of him in waves; even though there's distance between us, I'm aware of that, too.

I get a room, grab the keys; he remains a few steps behind me. I stomp up the stairs because I cannot possibly fathom standing in the cramped, intimate space of an elevator with him so close by; he stomps after me, his footfalls heavy on the carpeted stairwell.

I finally reach my room, storm inside, and leave the door open. No point in closing it, he's still behind me and even if I did, he'd just bang against it until I opened.

Anger is officially ruling over hurt now, and I'm practically seething. What does he want from me? I just let him off the hook, didn't I? He doesn't want me. So why is _he_ angry with _me_? Now's a fine time for him to show a reaction!

The slamming of the door, even though expected, makes me jump. I whip around and face him. "What do you want, Harm?"

"An explanation for your bizarre behavior would be a start!" He's planted there, like big macho man, his arms folded in front of his chest. A gesture I recognize immediately. It's arrogant and irascible, protective and excluding. Shutting everything out. Shutting _me _out. It makes me so furious that I'm clenching my fists.

"I don't have to explain _anything_ to you!" I'm shouting now. "_You're_ the one that didn't say anything! I say something like that, and you just stand there!"

"Damn it, Mac," he yells back, "what the fuck did you expect me to say? You declared the end; didn't seem like there was much more to say after that!" I stare at him in shock at the crude words coming from his mouth. He's never crude in front of me. He's staring right back, his eyes cold.

"You could've fought me. You fight for everything and everyone, except for me!"

"And what do you call this? I came down here for _you_! I gave up everything to save your life! And what do I find? You all cozy with Webb!" He's loosened his stance and is walking towards me. Angry. Predatory.

"There's nothing between me and Webb. And what does that mean, anyway? That I'm only worth saving if I'm available?" I'm ranting away, oblivious to anything but my tumbling thoughts. One after the other is spilling out, unchecked and uncensored.

"And available for what? I think it's become clear that _you_ certainly don't want me!" It's deflating me, this discussion, the pain. Like a hot air balloon with a hole poked in. Excruciatingly slow, yet deadly nevertheless.

"So what _is _it you really want? For once, just say what you have to say. Admit that you have real feelings!"

"Me?" He snorts. Facing me. "Look at the pot calling the kettle 'black' here!"

Suddenly, this coming out of his mouth is striking me as funny. Hilarious, even. I snort, start to giggle. This conversation is giving me whiplash.

"This isn't funny Mac!"

"No it's not," I admit, laughing hysterically. "But it's either that or cry." And with just this one word, the tears are back. Is this what insanity feels like? I'm wracked by sobs that come from so deep inside that I can't move, can't think, can't breathe. And suddenly he's there. Wrapping his strong arms around my heaving body, holding me tightly against him.

"Shhh, it's okay," he whispers, rubbing soothing circles over my back. But nothing's okay. I'm unexpectedly right where I've always wanted to be, and everything is wrong about it. Damn him, I don't need his pity. I struggle; he only holds me tighter. I want so much more, and I can't have it. Why's he doing this to me? My fists are clutched; I'm hammering them into his chest when all the agony is forcing its way out of me. The weeks of tension, Clay's screams, Sadiq's knife, all that blood, the fear, always the fear… and every time I slept, dreaming about him; every waking hour hoping against hope that he'd come. For me. All the while fearing I'd never see him again. Harm. "It hurts, Harm," I whimper, my fists still limply attacking his torso, "it hurts so damn much…"

"I know, baby." His voice, a raw whisper. Every stroke of his fingers, a reassurance. Extracting the hurt, the anger, the fear out of me, touch by touch. "It's over now. Let it all out. Everything will be alright…"

I want to believe him. The fight goes out of me and my limbs weaken. I continue to cry, but the agonizing sobs give way to a more languid pouring of tears. Still he holds me tight, tucking my head in his neck.

Awareness returns in spades. I should feel embarrassed about my outburst, but I can't find the energy. Instead I revel in his smell, so enticingly familiar. His strong chest muscles under my fingertips, up and down they go with every breath he takes, up and down. I exhale against the hollow of his neck, and a trail of goose bumps marches across his skin. Everything about this man is overwhelming.

Feeling his breathing speed up, I look up at him. And what I'm seeing takes my breath away. None of the cold is left in his eyes. It's been replaced by blazing passion. His hands are digging into my sides, holding my hips tightly against the evidence of his desire.

Suddenly he swoops down on me. His lips claim mine forcefully, with no discipline, no escape, no excuses. The kiss is raw and savage, and I return it with all that I am. Our tongues meet and battle, teeth are clashing, lips are gnawed. Eight years of primal, barely controlled need are rendering us victims to their force. He invades my mouth, his discovery of me so overwhelmingly intense that a moan comes up from deep inside of me and I bite his bottom lip. The coppery taste of blood brings back some awareness, but instead of pulling away, he sifts a hand through my hair, holding me close, while tempering the savagery. Tenderly, he strokes my lips with his, and then we meet once more. It's gentleness and heat, softness and passion, all wrapped into one. Pools of warmth are shooting through every limb of my body before they heavily settle in my middle. I whimper in his mouth and then I'm falling, falling, falling.

It's sheer need of air that finally breaks us apart; we're both panting heavily. Gradually I become aware that his hands have wandered under my shirt and are burning heat onto the bare skin of my back, while my hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt. I feel his chest hair tickling my palms, and heat flashes through me. Alarm bells are ringing in my head. Too fast. Not too long ago I was convinced that he didn't feel what I felt for him. That he didn't want me. And now we kissed like there's no tomorrow. I look up at him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, glazed, blazing with desire.

I slowly extract myself from his embrace and retreat towards the window. I need to think and I can't think with him so close. Still he isn't saying a word. This can't just be about need and desire, about desperation after having survived unbearable situations; I want and need so much more from him, but the longer he remains silent, the more convinced I am that it's all there is. I'm hot and bothered, so I rest my forehead against the cool windowpane. It looks down on the front of the hotel, and that blasted taxi stand. I remember vaguely that our luggage was down there; it isn't anymore.

"I won't have any pajamas tonight." It's the first inane thing that comes to my mind and just popped out. I sigh, my breath fogging up a circle of the glass.

In three long strides he's behind me. Leaning against my back. His front plastered to it from top to bottom. His arms circling around me, his hands coming to rest against my tummy. My body is betraying me. It's succumbing to the sensations once more, making my insides flutter. He's warm and strong and manly and desirable, and every fiber of my being is screaming for him.

"You won't need pajamas tonight." He whispers close to my ear, and I shiver. "Tonight I want you hot and naked, writhing beneath me, abandoning all control and reason." Every word, a raspy pledge. While his hands are wandering. One up, towards the underside of my breast. The other down, dipping low, and lower, unbearably close to where my whole being comes together in an aching bundle. Oh God, this is Savage Harm, claiming me.

"You can't just fuck me and then dismiss me again in the morning. Despite what you seem to think, I'm not a whore!" I don't know where that came from. I have barely finished talking when he whips me around, grabbing my upper arms, shaking me until I look up at him.

"Damn it, Mac, where did that come from? I'd _never_ think that of you! You're the most amazing woman I've ever met!" His grip on my arms softens and so does his voice. "Don't you know what this is about?"

"No!" I cry out. "I don't know." My eyes are pleading with him, begging him to tell me something, anything. I don't need the actual words, but something I can understand. "What are you so afraid of, Harm? Why can't you tell me? Please tell me what you feel. This is tearing me apart."

I can see it, the battle that's going on inside of him. Emotions run rampant in his eyes, his breathing hard and labored. Tension is wracking his muscles; I can feel it in subconscious movements of his fingers against my arms. I suddenly understand that this is his breaking point. I broke down emotionally earlier, and now it's his turn. He's trying to keep in control, battling with himself. And the most basic understanding of Harmon Rabb Jr. is on the forefront of my mind again; something I've always known yet never properly addressed. Caring, loving, and fear of losing, for him they are inextricably intertwined.

I touch my hands to his face, stroking his forehead and over his cheekbones, hoping this will soothe and calm him. "Please Harm, you can tell me." I whisper, looking up in his eyes. "No matter what it is, you won't lose me. I'm not leaving. You're never going to lose me. Tell me, why did you come down here?"

A strangled sob comes out from deep inside of him and the most amazing thing happens, right in front of my eyes. Everything else falls away and what is left is Harm, bare and raw. "Because I love you." He gathers me close again, holding me so tight that I can hardly breathe. "God, I love you so much. I was so afraid I'd lose you. I can't imagine having to spend my life without you, Sarah."

I'm crying again; for years I've hoped that he'd feel that way about me that it almost feels surreal now. I wrap my arms around him, running my hands up and down his back while burying my face in his neck. "I love you, too. So, so much. I can't remember a time when I didn't."

Now we're both exposed and vulnerable, completely opened to the other. And with sudden clarity I know that this is it, our chance of a lifetime, our forever. This is it, for us. Us. Two letters, strung together. Forming this beautiful, life-altering entity.

I feel warm and tingly, and start trailing soft kisses along his collarbones. Up his neck. Over his jaw. And then we're kissing again, slow and deep, exploring everything the other has to give. My feet leave the ground when he picks me up and holds me in the air, all the while fusing his lips to mine. Desire is bubbling through my veins, leaving me feeling limp and heavy, and I cling to him with all that I am. A raspy groan rumbles through his chest, and the kiss changes momentum, turns passionate and needy. There's no holding back this time.

He carries me to the bed and disposes me in the middle. I struggle with the covers, throwing them to the ground, all the while pulling him on top of me. He sinks on me, and we kiss, enthusiastic and determined. He nibbles a path down my jaw, my neck, and my skin, my whole being, tingles with desire. It's pooling in my belly and I'm lost, mindless to everything but him. I grapple with his shirt, and when it's finally gone, my fingers roam over his strong muscular arms, his chest, his abs. My shirt quickly joins his on the floor and he's trailing kisses along the edge of my bra while his hands go exploring. I'm going up in flames and we're only at the beginning.

It's almost spiritual when we finally come together, crossing that last barrier. Bra, skirt, jeans, underwear, it all virtually melted from our bodies while fingers and lips and tongues went on discovering the essence of the other. I'm hot and naked, writhing beneath him, abandoning control and reason while he's drawing feelings from me I've never quite experienced that way before. Still I'm aching and empty, and I wrap my legs around his hips, urging him on. We stare at each other when he comes inside of me, and my body quivers with awareness. Motionless for a long moment, I revel in the overwhelming sensations of our joining; bodies, minds and souls becoming one. His eyes, his beautiful expressive eyes, tell me that he's just as awed as me. And then we move, simultaneously urging on the other. I'm soaring higher and higher, feeling him right there with me when we approach that ever elusive cliff, and then tumble over the edge together. The world goes dark except for the blazing of colorful sparks that splinter through me.

Another beautiful day greets me when I finally wake up the next morning. Sunlight is slanting through the windows in wide beams, plunging the room in warm, glowing light. I follow the beams on their way through the room, skipping over the pillows and blankets strewn helter-skelter on the floor around the bed, here and there stumbling over a piece of our clothing. My eyes chase the sunlight as it climbs over the bed, and touches the man lying next to me. Well, half under me is more like it. My head is resting against his chest, and I can feel every movement it makes in its calm, sleep-induced breathing pattern. All that is left on the bed, apart from us, that is, is one lonely bed sheet. It's tangled and wrapped around both our legs, as if trying to hold us in place until we got some much needed rest. As it is, we didn't exactly get much sleep. Again and again, we kept reaching for each other, insatiable in our quest to become one, then came back for more. I'm exhausted and I've never felt better before in my life. Sleep is overrated. I struggle with that sheet and kick it off until it finds its proper place with all the others on the floor. Freed, I wrap myself completely around him and start trailing soft, teasing kisses over his chest. I feel his arms coming around my back and look up. His hair is messy, his chin stubbly; he's never looked sexier before. He's looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes, a satisfied sexy grin plastered on his face. I'm melting to my very core.

"Good Morning, Beautiful."

Yes, it certainly is.

_THE END _


End file.
